


Sherlock's Costumes

by weirdpurplepanda



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Case Fic, Costumes, Crossdressing, Death of minor characters, Dress Up, Falling In Love, Gay Sex, John saving Sherlock, Kissing, Lap Dances, M/M, Sex, Sherlock and John are idiots, Sherlock likes to dress up, cases, slow seduction, will earn E rating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdpurplepanda/pseuds/weirdpurplepanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock does love to truly involve himself in his cases and sometimes, that means dressing for the occasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock's Costumes: The Hat-Trick Murders

*-*-*-*

Sherlock was stood in the middle of the living room, a pair of blue washed jeans on, white trainers and a baggy MUFC top on. His brand new trainers are done up tightly, the bow on the laces a little lopsided. The top hangs off his slim frame, the sleeves nearly reaching his elbows and the hem of the top covering his whole crutch. His worn jeans are a little tight fitting, but still loose enough for him to fit in at a pub without any odd looks. He's left his hair as usual, washed and towel dried, no styling to it, he'd simple pushed his curls to the side. 

He smiles as John enters the room, back from shopping (and another argument with the machine, Sherlock notes)

"Hello John" He waves. "Excited for today's game?" 

John pauses, coming to a stop in the doorway. The bags he's carrying swing in his grip due to the abrupt stop. He takes in the detectives appearance, his eyebrows slowly raising. Sherlock could almost see his mind working through possibilities.

John finds the ability to move again and makes his way into the kitchen, questioning Sherlock as he does "This is a joke, right? Or for the case?" 

Sherlock nods, following John and peeking into the bags as John settles them on the kitchen table "The case" 

"Right..." John trails off, still starring at Sherlock in disbelief. In the current case they were on the murders took place at a football match, but he had no idea why Sherlock was dressed as he was. John then starts to unpack the shopping. 

He gives Sherlock a look, as if to say he should be helping. Sherlock looks at him blankly, seeming unable to understand that John actually believes his flatmate expects him to do normal everyday things like putting away the shopping. John rolls his eyes, continuing to unpack the items while Sherlock stands there and watches. 

Sherlock tugs on the top a bit, glancing down in distaste at how baggy and loose fitting it was. He prefers his tight tops. They make him feel more comfortable, plus they're more practical. He doesn't need to worry about the fabric getting catch on anything, and he looks smart and approachable. 

Sherlock gives a small grunt, showing his distaste. John glances at him from his spot by the fridge. He finishes sliding the milk in place before he shuts the fridge and turns to Sherlock. 

"Why does a case require you to become a Man U fan?" John asks, his eyes on the top. 

Sherlock could tell John was neither a fan nor a hater of the football club. That was good. 

"Because.." Sherlock pulls a Liverpool top from behind him and seemingly no where, presenting it to John "We're going to start a football brawl" 

John's eyes widen and he starts to shake his head "No.. No way! Are you crazy? No! You must have seem the papers, some of those fights are horrid. People die"

"Exactly" Sherlock grins, thinking John was following. 

"You're trying to get someone killed?!" John watches his unpredictable friend carefully, knowing he should trust him but even so he has to check his sanity. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes, more at himself for assuming John was keeping up then at John for not keeping up. 

"No, John, as I ever I am trying to find a killer and potentially save lives" 

John frowns before sighing. "Sherlock, explain, because I don't follow. Why are we starting a fight between two teams who have a bit of rivalry already?" 

Sherlock's lips twitch into a brief smile, John had already made the subconscious decision to help. 

"Someone had been using football brawls as a way of murdering young fans, the five victims are all the same age and have a similar appearance making it clear that these young men are being singled out by a group of people or a person" Sherlock pauses, checking John was following. 

"Right, I get that. But why are we starting a fight? Why not just wait for this group, or person, to start a fight?" John frowns a little, seeing more sense in his way. 

Sherlock almost sighs at how John wasn't truly thinking before speaking. "This person, I believe it is one person, there's evidence that the same knife had been used, also another fact that points towards these being preplanned killings. Anyway, we are going to start a fight because this serial killer is smart, he does not start the fights. He simply waits for one to happen, and takes advantage of it. So, to ensure he is found as soon as possible, we are going to create a brawl. We can't simply hope one breaks out, police keep a close watch on games and fans are careful" 

John nods, seeing Sherlock's sense. He's then hit with another problem "People are going to be hurt" 

"Yes" Sherlock admits, with a nod. 

"No, there's got to be another way. We can't cause a massive fight, between two groups of men who will be drunk and possibly carrying weapons" John shakes his head, crossing his arms. 

They couldn't hurt people. It wasn't right. Even if they weren't the ones causing the pain and the overall purpose was to safe lives. 

"Don't you think I've tried that? But without being there, in a fight between two teams I don't have enough data to go on to catch this crazed killer"

John sighs, his stubbornness slowly fading as images of the dead kids flash through his mind. All male, all barely twenty, all of them dead. Killed by a single stab wound, deep in their abdomen. What made John sick though, even more then their age, was the fact that their friends, their teammates, just left them to bleed while they continued to have a punch up. 

John glances up at his flatmate, a hand in his hair before he reaches forward and grabs the Liverpool top. "Fine. But we're bringing Lestrade and some others with us, two on each side at least" 

Sherlock nods, failing when he tries to hide his grin of excitement. 

"The Game is on" Sherlock laughs

John finds himself grinning too at the double meaning before he turns to go change. 

"John" Sherlock's voice stops the doctor in his tracks. 

John looks back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. 

Sherlock leans in and presses his lips to John's cheek, his voice low when he speaks "Thank you, I know you don't like seeing people get hurt" 

Then Sherlock's gone, he's out the door and shouting that he needs to go to the Yard and John should hurry up or he'll leave without him. 

John blinks, still in shock from the kiss. He brings his hand to his cheek, frowning. Because it was bloody odd for Sherlock to show any form of appreciation, never mind kiss him on the cheek. Then, before John can look into the act further, Sherlock's words sink in and he scrambles to get changed. 

*

John walks up to the Liverpool stadium, Lestrade by his side in another Liverpool top. Two more officers are with them, both in just normal clothes. One had a Liverpool scarf though. 

Sherlock was already in the stadium, with his own little group of officers. The plan was for John and Lestrade to convince a bunch of Liverpool fans to fight while Sherlock did the same with the Man United fans. 

They'd lead the groups to a location Sherlock had picked, some abandoned warehouse. John was still surprised Lestrade's boss had agreed to this, along with the Manchester police. Deep down, John knew Sherlock had lied about that to both him and Lestrade. Lestrade knew it too, John could tell, but as always they also knew that if Sherlock truly thought this was the only way then it probably was. 

Once seated John and Lestrade wait for the signal. 

John's phone beeps and he takes it out, opening up the message as the game kicks off. 

Start rounding up the Liverpool side just before half time, get them all worked up during half time and the second half -SH

John shows the message to Lestrade and he nods. As the game progresses both men keep an eye on the time and John's eyes wonder to the part of the stadium where mainly Man U fans sat. He knew it was a lost cause, but he still found himself searching for Sherlock in the sea of red shirts. John was worried Sherlock might get into a fight during the game, all he'd have to do is say the wrong thing to the wrong person and he'd get a punch in the face. John hopes this case was enough to get Sherlock to be less.. well, himself. 

John scans over the crowd over and over, feeling out of place even more so because he couldn't see Sherlock. Sherlock was bad with small groups of people, never mind a large group of avid sports fans. All it would take is one smart arse comment and the detective would have a whole lot of trouble. 

The doctor found himself beginning to worry about his friend. 

John's nudged by Lestrade, pulling him away from his worried thoughts. John glances at Greg, then at the clock. 

He nods, and takes a moment to compose himself. It felt so wrong, starting a fight, possibly getting people hurt. 

Overhearing two men effing and blinding about the opposition John takes the chance, pushing his morals away for now. 

"Hey, mate" John speaks, tapping one of the skinheads on the shoulder.

Both men turn to look at him, they see his shirt and immediately smile at him like an old friend. He forces himself to smile back at the men. He could already tell they were the type to jump at the chance to pick on someone who wasn't the same as them. 

"You alright, mate?" One of them asks, his Liverpool accent heavy. 

"Yeah, I just thought that maybe you'd be interested in a.. little get together with some Man U fans" John explains, making it clear that what was planned was in no way a friendly get together. 

Both of the men, John seriously couldn't tell them apart that much, look a bit shocked at first before wicked smirks take over their faces and they share a look. 

"Sounds good, where is it? " The one on the left asks, briefly glancing at the pitch. 

John tells them the street, and being locals they recognise it immediately. 

"We'll see you there.." The man trains off, waiting for John to give us name. 

"Jason" John says, smiling again before he adds "Spread the word, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah" The left nods. He then turns to his friend, who nods and stands. 

John watches as he rushes towards a large rowdy group and explains the situation in a hushed yet suspicious looking way. Many of the group look to John as the man points at him. Then they're all laughing, nodding and cheering. John's gut twists in guilt. He then realises that the people Sherlock convinces to go are probably just as horrible. Not that it justified what they were doing.

John was about to look away from the group when he's eyes land on a young boy in the middle of the group, he's a spitting image of the victims so far and John's stomach drops further. 

Turning back towards the pitch, John leans towards Greg. "See that kid in the middle of the group?" He lowers his voice a tad. 

Greg glances back and draws in a breath "Shit"

"Yeah"

"I'll put Smith on him" Lestrade reassures before he turns towards one of the officers and starts whispering to him. 

John returns to watching the game for a little longer, hearing people behind him bubbling with sick twisted excitement over the fight. He forces himself to keep a straight face, putting a small smug smile on his face when he feels eyes on him.  

On the other side of the stadium Sherlock was singing along with fans, screaming the silly lyrics at the top of his lungs and swaying with the men around him. They're all grinning and laughing as they support their team and mock their opposition. 

Sherlock had already convinced the group to come to the warehouse and the news was spreading like wild fire, the officers assigned to help him were doing well. 

In a way, Sherlock was lucky none of these sporty men had recognised him. Then again, they were all stupid and it was unlikely they had time to read or watch the news between their mundane jobs and tedious lives.

The man behind him wraps his arms around Sherlock, making some kind of amused grunt as he brings Sherlock out of his thoughts. Pushing back his urge to throw this man, who smelled like sweat and beer, away from him, Sherlock looks up and gives the shaggy haired male a smile. 

"Arg! I'm so glad you're here, been ages since I had a good punch up" The man releases his hold on Sherlock and slumps against his girlfriend. 

She glazes at him, worry evident on her face. She glances at Sherlock, and the detective can see she's torn between slapping him and begging him to look after her boyfriend. 

Sherlock looks at the young man again. He doesn't care whether he's hurt or not really, but he gives the woman a smile- a silent promise.  

She nods her thanks, a hand settling on her stomach. Sherlock's eyes widen in surprise. Pregnant. He nods at her and she smiles back. 

Sherlock turns back towards the pitch, his eyes following the players but not truly seeing them. He finds himself deciding to check on the man behind him, for the sake of his child. His child deserves to have both parents. Sherlock briefly looks over the expectant father, Daniel Woods. 

He doesn't know about the baby. He's only at this game because his brother is in town. He's not usually violent or a drinker. No evidence to show he's ever been unfaithful. He wears a cross around his neck. He helps his mother often, she may even live with him.  All in all, he's a good man. 

Yes, Sherlock can spare a moment to check on him once the police have arrived at the warehouse. He is, after all, a man of his word. 

The game eventually draws to a close and the fans flood out of the stadium. Sherlock immediately heads for an alley, the officers and around ten of his new friends follow him. As they enter, Sherlock glances over at the police. Somehow they go unseen and make a bee line towards the warehouse. 

*

John stood in the middle of the warehouse, his stomach twisted and a vile taste rising in his throat. The scene around him was carnage, fists, metal poles, baseball bats and anything that was heavy and hard were being swung around. Blood ran down the fans faces and teeth were lying on the floor. 

John hated the fact he'd been responsible for causing this. There were a group of men, all slumped against the wall and bleeding. John decides that maybe he could redeem himself, he rushes over and checks all their pulses. He then puts them all into the recovery position. 

One of the six unconscious men was the young man who looked liked the other victims. John looks up at the crowd, searching for Lestrade or Sherlock. Preferably Lestrade, Sherlock would be looking for the killer. 

John sees Smith, the officer that is supposed to be watching this young lad. John waves him over and together they lift the young man. As they get him into a sanding position John notices the blood seeping through his top. 

"Shit." John hisses the word, his guilt weighing him down. 

They place him on the floor and John pushes up the boys top. The wound is the same as the other victims, deep and on the left side of the abdomen. The cut is about two inches wide and, from examining the other bodies, John knew it was also around four inches deep. 

Without a second thought John removes his football top, seeing no other fabric anywhere close by. He presses the top to the wound, glancing at Officer Smith, nodding at the top. 

The officer places his hands where John wants them, pressing down. John checks the boys pulse again, it's steady but faint. 

Lestrade appears then, a man in tow. Handcuffs are on one of Greg's wrists and one of the mans wrists. A shiver runs through John, cold in just his white top.

"Is this the guy Sherlock is after?" John asks, glaring at the man that was looking down blankly at the bleeding Liverpool fan. 

"Yes, he--"

"Where's Sherlock now?" John asks, his attention on the fast fading pulse. 

"He ran off, shouting about a Hat trick" Lestrade explains. 

John just nods "Call the police, and an ambulance" He snaps the order, his panic for the young unconscious male growing as the pulse under his fingers becomes weaker. 

"Already have" Lestrade ensures. 

All the can do is wait now, wait and hope the man would be okay. 

The killer watches silently, a smirk spreading over his lips as he glances around at the still fighting men and then the dying boy on the floor. "I almost did it" He speaks, a London accent. 

John glares up at him. The murderer is wearing casual clothes, no evidence of him being on either side. His hair is cut short and other then his set jaw line he has no memorable features. John could easily pass him in the street and not even spare him a glance. 

"If that Sherlock guy hadn't come along, I would have got my hat trick" 

John and Lestrade exchange a look. John studies the killer again. He may not be a doctor of the mind but one look at the mans eyes told him that there was something wrong with him, mentally. 

John sighs, double checking Smith was applying the right pressure before his phone buzzes. He takes out his phone, one hand still monitoring the dying mans pulse. 

"Sherlock?" 

John nods at Lestrade "Sherlock" 

Take the murderer in, he is mentally unstable. He stabbed two tonight, the other is dead and you have the other in your hands. I have five Liverpool fans chasing me, might be in late -SH

Police and medics rush into the warehouse just as John passes his phone to Lestrade. John then allows three medics to take over the care of the young dying man. He'd survive, there was a hospital a few streets over, John had seen it in the way here. 

"I'm going to look for Sherlock, he can't be far" John was gone before Lestrade could protest. 

Once outside it was easy to see where Sherlock would run to, there was an alley straight across from the exit. John heads that way, worried for his friend. Sherlock could fight, that was for sure, but against five angry football fans? He had less of a chance of getting out of it in one piece.

The alley way was disgusting; it was dirty, had litter everywhere and smelt of pee. John wrinkles his nose up in distaste, briskly walking down the alley. 

John saw the group of men before he heard them. All the five Liverpool fans were well built and standing ready for an attack. John recognised two of them as the skin heads he'd first spoke too.

Sherlock's grunt of pain as one of them stepped forward and swung his fist had John rushing towards them. He pushes through the men, taking them by surprise. He stands in front of Sherlock, who was stood pressed against the wall and holding his arm. John blocks them all from Sherlock, standing close to the detective and holding his arms out. Two of the men went to lunge for John but one of the skin heads held up a hand to stop them. 

"Jason? What the fuck, man? He's one of them United fans.." He was clearly confused as to why John was blocking them from Sherlock. 

John nods "I know, but he's also my sisters boyfriend, I have to look out for him" John lies easily. 

"Well if it wasn't for you we'd never have come here, so we'll let you have this one" A ginger lad, who's stood in the centre speaks. 

The others nod and murmur agreements. One of the skin heads hold out his fist to John. John flashes a smile, dropping his arms and bumping the fist. 

When they begin to wonder off John turns to Sherlock, pulling his arm out to check for broken bones. The detective, who's face is bloody and top is ripped, hisses in pain but doesn't say a word as the doctor checks his limb. 

Sherlock's eyes fix on John's face, silently admiring and wondering why he cared. For some reason, unknown to Sherlock, the doctor couldn't stand seeing people hurt, especially Sherlock. It confused him. He knew he was the doctors friend, but it still didn't make sense to him. Then again, Sherlock found that he couldn't bare to see John in pain as well. It was odd, he'd never cared before. 

John clears his throat and Sherlock becomes aware of the fact he was staring. He flashes a smile and leans forward, just like he did earlier, and presses his lips to the doctors cheek. 

"Thank you" and then he's walking away and babbling about a pizza place he saw down the road. 

John follows, his fingers brushing over his cheek as he frowns and tries to figure out what Sherlock was doing. He quickly gives up, knowing he'd never get close to figuring out the great, yet annoying, detective. He decides to just absorb the nice feeling of Sherlock showing his appreciation. If he's lucky, this whole kiss on the cheek thing would continue.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock's Costumes: The Sadistic Ex

((no proof read yet, sorry))

*-*-*-*

"A past romantic partner" Sherlock says, breaking the thick silence of the darkened flat. 

Lestrade and John are stood behind the detective, watching him work while Sally stood off to one side and comforted the girlfriend of the dead man laying in the middle of the floor.

Sherlock kneels down, rolling his eyes at the sobbing woman and gesturing for Sally to take her out. It was stupid for her to be here, it was just prolonging her pain to make her stay while Sherlock goes through what happened. 

Sally leads the woman out, rubbing her back gently and murmuring small comforting things as the woman continues to cry, her make-up running down her face as she makes a poor attempt to wipe away the tears. 

John gives Sherlock a warning look when he spots the eye roll. Once the hysterical woman was gone he walks over and kneels too, looking over the body. It didn't take a doctor to see what had killed the man. The large gash in his head was one of two wounds and considering the other was a long scratch down his arm, John was certain it was the dent in his skull that had killed him. 

"Blow to the head, looks like a blunt--"

"It was the side of his desk" Sherlock speaks over John, nodding towards the desk behind John. John glances at the piece of furniture before raising an eyebrow. 

"How can you tell?" His tone is purely curious, he didn't even seem bothered that Sherlock was correcting him. 

Sherlock stands and points at the mans head "Look at his hair, messy, clear sign that someone grabbed the side of his head" Sherlock slides a hand his own hair, gripping at the roots as he paces "and she--"

"She?" Lestrade interrupts. 

Sherlock pauses in his movement to glance at the DI. He begins to pace again as he speaks "Yes, the scratch, long manicured fingernails. Did you see his girlfriends hands? Her nails are short where she has the habit of biting them. This scratch is new, you can tell by how it's all puffy and pink, anyway, the girlfriends short nails meaning the scratch couldn't have been caused by her when he came home last night and slid into bed with her. It's unlikely a man has nails that long and that shaped, our murder is a woman, a previous lover of his to be exact. She came in, she had heavy duty boots on" Sherlock points to the indents on the carpet from a pair of boots, traces of mud are left from small boots. Too small to be the victims. 

"Again, the girlfriend doesn't have shoes like that. You saw her. She's a stilettos kind of girl. The fact the murderer is a previous lover is obvious from the black lipstick mark on his neck" John checks and sure enough it's there. "Not the girlfriends, her lipstick is bright reds and pinks. His ex came here, broke in, and tried to get back with our victim. He refused and in a fit of anger she took hold of his head and smashed it into the side of the desk" 

Sherlock looks at them both, watching as their eyes dart about and see what they previously hadn't. 

"Brilliant" John murmurs, grinning at his friend. 

Sherlock doesn't reply, simply smirks and allows his ego to absorb the compliment. 

"How can you be sure she came here with the intention of getting back with him? She could have preplanned this" Lestrade inquires. 

Sherlock sighs, wondering if he'll ever be able to say something and the DI would just understand and fill some gaps independently. 

He points towards the bin beside the desk "Chocolates, in the shapes of bats and broken hearts, his Gothic ex brought him those, I doubt his girlfriend would. A note is stuck to the box, 'I still love you', she is clearly an ex lover" 

"So we're looking for his Goth ex? That shouldn't be too difficult" Lestrade comments, briefly looking down at the man and muttering 'poor sod'

"Mm, not as simple as that. The photos in the living room when we passed. He has only recently started dressing the way he is dressed now, he was previously a Goth himself and likely had many girlfriends that had the same fashion sense" Sherlock pauses for a moment. 

He glances around for a moment before he walks out. John and Lestrade exchange a look before they walk out after him. 

John expects to see Sherlock questioning the girlfriend but instead he's heading straight for the door, his coat swinging behind him as he speed walks. 

"Where are you going?" Greg questions, raising his voice when Sherlock disappeared out the door. 

Sherlock ignores the DI and calls to John "John! C'mon, or I'll leave you behind" 

John flashes Lestrade an apologetic smile, promising to text him any details before he rushes after Sherlock. He gets out the building a moment too late and he sees Sherlock in the back of a cab, already heading for the flat. 

With a small huff John hails his own cab. 

*

When John gets home he's greeted with the odd sight of Sherlock sat in his chair, hair straightened and dyed black. He's got a black denim jacket on, a thin grey t-shirt underneath with some kind of band logo on and tight black jeans wrap around his long legs with a thick chain that hangs from the belt hoop. The chain is hanging over his leg while he's sat. The detective also has a mirror in front of him, his mouth is open, his eyes wide and he is applying black eye liner. 

John is torn between an urge to laugh, and cry in confusion. This is obviously for the case but why Sherlock had all these things and was able to put them on and get the look so quickly just raised too many questions for John to remain sane. 

"You own eye liner?!" was the first question out of John's mouth. 

Sherlock finishes with the eye liner and places it in a box to his left before he pulls on his right boot. John's eyes fall onto the heavy black boots before he looks back to the detective, raising an eyebrow and waiting for a reply. 

"I do" is all Sherlock says before pulling on his other boot. He looks down at his feet and smiles. He's speaking again before John has the chance to ask why on Earth he owns eyeliner. "We're going to a club, a Gothic one. Those chocolates are sold in few places, the only one in London being a small shop beside this club. Going by the fact she broke in and murdered someone, at least eighteen months after their break up, would suggest she was intoxicated. That and she left her vodka bottle on his dresser"

John had many questions, ones about the case and ones about Sherlock's new outfit. John pauses briefly, looking over the detective. The jacket hung a little loose, giving off a IDGAF vibe and made Sherlock look a bit like a bad boy from a cliche movie. His hair and eye liner (which somehow looked sexy on him) added to his ever mysterious appearance and personality. And the jeans.. God, they hugged his legs perfectly and John could image the way they defined his arse. 

Sherlock clears his throat and John's eyes snap back up to Sherlock's face. He clears his throat as well, a little flustered he'd been catch checking his best friend out, something he'd been doing an awful lot since those two times Sherlock kissed him on the cheek during the Hat-Tick case. 

"Er, why didn't you tell Lestrade about the bottle? He could have it checked for prints" John says, deciding it was too soon to comment on the outfit again. 

"She was wearing gloves" 

John frowns at that "How'd you know?" 

"It's the middle of winter and we live in London. It's been snowing. Everyone is wearing gloves. The cold, plus her fashion, she's most likely wearing gloves" Sherlock gives John that look, the you're-an-idiot look. 

"Right. Right" John nods, sitting in his chair and looking at Sherlock. 

He looks away before his glaze can wonder again. 

"Your outfit is in my room" Sherlock speaks, a hint of amusement in his tone. 

John's eyes widen "My outfit?!" 

"Don't worry, it's just black jeans and top" Sherlock smiles, as if it were going to ease John's edgyness

John blinks, wondering how to word his next question. He knew from previous occasions like this, after Sherlock had decided everything was fine and was expecting John to do something, the doctor had one question or statement before Sherlock shooed him off. 

"Okay.." John considers his options, then reconsiders them. "Right, I've go to ask, why the hell do you own all these things and why do you have stuff for me?" He checks his watch "There's no way you brought all those things in the time it took me to get home, I was five minutes behind at the most, so that means you already had this stuff. Explain" 

Sherlock could, and would, explain the case later, so he may as well jump at the chance to find out more about where the hell these clothes were coming from. 

Sherlock smiles at the bloggers words, John was finally observing. 

"I own all these things because I once had an undercover case where I needed to get close to a young man and therefore had to gin some common interests. As for the clothes for you, the top will be a bit loose because its an old one of mine and the jeans are ones I brought when I thought we'd need them for the Nightclub Killings case"

John nods, taking in the new information. But of course, before he can process any of it Sherlock has clapped his hands together and told John to go change before he's left behind again. The detective then jumps up, the chain on his jeans rattling as he does, and he heads for the kitchen. 

Johns stands and heads for his room. He passes through the kitchen, where Sherlock is fiddling with one of his experiments, and he subtly glances at Sherlocks jeans. Yep, they certainly showed off his lonely behind. 

Once in his flatmates room John can feel that his cheeks are flushed. He looks around Sherlocks' room, wondering what else he'd discover if given the time. His glaze then falls on the black outfit sitting on top of Sherlock's neat bed. 

There are a pair of black converse sat on the floor, in John's size and the doctor guesses those are part of his outfit too. He quickly changes, ignoring the fact that he had a top on that smelt like Sherlock's tangy scent. 

Sherlock's scent seems to invade his nostrils the moment he tries to push it away. John shakes his head, laughing to himself. He's going crazy. Maybe he should go on a date to stop these feeling for Sherlock. They were growing more and more with each passing day.

After having Sherlock's lips brush his cheek, however, dates with anyone else other then the detective himself just seemed wrong. He wants Sherlock, both romantically and sexually, and that was that. 

"John! C'mon, the sooner we leave, the sooner we finds this Gothic ex" Sherlock's voice calls from just outside the door.

John feels his cheeks heat up once again, for what seemed to John no good reason, and he tugs at the top before he grabs the clothes he was wearing when he came in. He bundles them up in his arms and walks to open the door. 

When he pulls it open Sherlock steps back, giving him space to exit the room. John gives him a closed mouth smile before he steps into the bathroom, throws his clothes in the hamper and then steps out again. 

He gestures for the detective to lead the way but instead of moving Sherlock stays stood in one place as his eyes roam over John's frame. When the detectives eyes reach his legs John become aware of the fact that his jeans were rather tight fitting. Not as much as Sherlock's but still enough to make certain bulges far more visible then necessary. Luckily for John, Sherlock's black top covered his crutch enough to hide what the tight jeans seemed desperate to expose. 

"You look good" Sherlock nods before he turns for the door. 

John smiles, despite his blush which had returned (again) in full force, and he follows the other man out of the flat with a slight spring to his step. 

John closes the door behind them just as Sherlock hails a cab. Sherlock looks back, checking John was behind before he climbs into the cab. As he does John's eyes fix on Sherlock's lovely round behind. The doctor licks his lips and quickly joins him in the cab, his eyes running over those jeans again. 

While the look suited Sherlock, John decides he prefers Sherlock's hair as its normal curly brown style. Sherlock would probably have a bath later and wash it all out anyway. John was glad that Sherlock didn't try to get him to wear make-up or dye his hair. 

Sherlock gives the cabbie the address, ignoring the odd look he got from the man. 

As they pull out Sherlock's fingers slide over his wrist and removed something, he hands John the spiked bracelet. He then pushed his hips up and shoves his hand into his jeans pocket, struggling due to how tight the clothing was. John was unable to tear his glaze away from Sherlock as his back arched slightly, filling John's head with images. Sherlock finally pulls whatever he was looking for from his picket and settles back into a more comfortable position. He hands John two tattoo sleeves. 

"Put those on, you look rather plain" Sherlock says, his eyes roaming over John's exposed tan arms. He could see clearly where the army and running around London with Sherlock had kept him fit. 

John took the piece of jewellery and tat sleeves before putting them on. Next to Sherlock, with his black hair and eye make-up, he would him plain and a little out of place in a Gothic club. 

"Thought I looked good" He teases when he was done covering his arms. The tat sleeves made his arm appeared to be covered in a large ink pattern. It was all a little alien to John, he wasn't used to his arms looking like they were covered in tattoos. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes at the remark, an amused smirk on his face. "You do" His smirk widens "I look better though" 

John silently agrees but instead of voicing his agreement he just mutters "Arrogant sod" and turns his attention to the sight of London outside the cab window. 

*

John had no idea why this case was getting to him so much. No, that's a lie. He knew exactly why this case was getting to him. 

There were three reasons.

One, in this venue and these clothes John was miles away from his cozy little comfort zone. 

Two, Sherlock's gorgeous arse looked unbelievably snug in those damn black jeans. 

And finally his biggest reason.. Three, when Sherlock said they were going to a club he left out the fact John was going to be left awkwardly standing by the bar and have no choice but to watch his best friend flirt with possible suspects.

The moment they stepped inside the club Sherlock had let out a string of 'Not her's while pointing at various woman as they made their way towards the bar. Before they had even got there Sherlock's brilliant mind had narrowed in down to four woman. He'd then headed towards the tallest, muttering something about there needing to be an order. 

At the time however John was more focused on the fact Sherlock Holmes had just run off to flirt.

Now, the doctor stood with a glass of coke (if it weren't for the case, he'd certainly be drinking something stronger right now), watching his detective friend whisper to an unbelievably pale girl who, by the time Sherlock pulled back, had turned a cherry red. 

John almost rolled his eyes. Along with all the other skills, Sherlock was a good flirt. Of course he was. The doctor sips his drink, trying to not wonder what Sherlock had said to get such a reaction from a rather stubborn moody looking woman. 

John continues to watch for a few moments. The woman gave a nervous smile as she pulls out her phone and pushes a few strands of dark hair behind her ear. Sherlock's flirty smirk drops in an instant, his face becoming its usual emotionless self. He says a few words before turning on his heel and walking back to John, leaning on the bar beside his friend casually as he did. 

"Not her, she's recently had her nails done. Too fake and plastic to have caused the scratch on the victims arm" Sherlock explains, ordering himself a glass of cherryade. 

John barely heard Sherlock's explanation, his attention still on the recently abandoned woman. She was gazing at Sherlock, appearing seconds away from tears. 

"Jesus, what did you say to her?" John gives his friend a look. One that tells the genius he'd done something a bit not good. 

"After deducing she wasn't our killer, because of the nails, I told her to go and save her failing marriage before she attempts to start a new relationship" Sherlock was truthful, sipping his drink and placing it on the bar beside John before he saunters off to flirt with the second tallest of his four suspects. 

That eases John's sympathy for the woman. She had a husband and was trying to get with someone else. John had little respect for people like her. 

He returns to watching the detective, and keeping his jealousy in check. 

He didn't even get to the woman before he changes course, jumping a little and tapping his foot to inform John how he'd deduced it wasn't her. John does roll his eyes this time. Sherlock was forever a show off. The doctor did feel a slightly blush on his cheeks at the fact Sherlock knew he'd been watching though. Which was silly, of course, there was no way Sherlock could know John had been watching his arse. 

Before long Sherlock is flirting again. The woman was a the second shortest of the four suspects and John looks her over, trying to deduce her. He was quickly distracted from his poor attempts when Sherlock and the woman began to snog like the sun was going down for the last time. 

They stumbled towards the bathroom and John is the only one who seems to notice. The two disappear into the toilets, their lips locked and hands going everywhere. 

John's gut twists in the same way it had at the football brawl. Expect this time it was with jealousy and disgust. Case or not, it seems wrong to see Sherlock kiss someone. 

John waits, seeing nothing else he can do, and sips his drink like the loyal obedient puppy he is. Sherlock told him to stay at the bar, that was what he was going to do. 

He eyes the door. They'd been a while. Sherlock wouldn't actually have sex with someone for a case, would he?

All that matters to me is the work! Without that, my brain rots!

The rest is transport

John swallows thickly, realising that it is entirely possible that Sherlock would go through with such a thing for a case. It was who he was. Anything to solve the mystery and complete the puzzle. 

John fidgets some more, wiping his palms over his thighs in an attempt to come his nerves. 

Why is he nervous? Sherlock can have sex for a case if he wants to. Does he want to though? Does he care about things like that? Would he give himself, his body, to someone purely for a case without a second thought or hesitation?

John hopes not.

Five intensely worrisome minutes later Sherlock comes out of the bathroom, lips a little swollen and the woman handcuffed and in tow. 

Surprising John's first thought regarding the situation is questioning how the hell Sherlock hid handcuffs on that outfit. 

*

Lestrade had done his bit, arresting the sadistic ex-girlfriend who thankfully provided her own handcuffs. Sherlock had his own of course but he was still surprised at her forwardness about her bondage kink. 

Not that any of that was relevant to the case. It had just been fun to see the looks of John and Lestrades faces. It's not everyday a murderers kinks help imprison them. 

With a chuckle Sherlock uses a small towel to further dry his hair, with was now back to his usual brown curly state. He'd washed away all evidence of their little undercover mission and was thankful, all of it reminding him of how the murder had shoved her tongue down his throat. And the way her hands roamed under his shirt, trailing up his abdomen then back down again. 

Nasty. He never wants to do that again. Well.. Maybe with a certain ex-army doctor. 

Smirking, Sherlock trails out of the bathroom, dressed in only his boxers seeing as it was a warm night. His shoulders are slumped and his eyes drop shut every few seconds. 

He walks over to John, who was sat in his chair and struggling to stay awake too. Sherlock leans over the back of the chair and presses his lips to John's cheek for the first time since the Hat-Trick murder cases. 

"Goodnight, Doctor Watson" He speaks quietly before straightening, turning and heading for his room. 

The whole way through the kitchen he's aware of John's eyes glued to his behind once again.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock's Costumes: Away With The Fairies 

*-*-*-*

John felt utterly ridiculous. 

"I really do hate you, you know that, right?" 

"You've said" Sherlock smirks "Eleven times now" He adds chuckling softly. 

John growls, glaring at the stupid, smirking detective.

He's a fairy, for God's sake! Dressed as a damn fairy. At least, he thinks, he has pretty, sharp (fake) daggers and his gun (real) tucked into the back of his tutu. It didn't stop him feeling ridiculous. Seriously, did he have to be a fairy? 

This case was important. He knew that. And Sherlock had looked so excited when he babbled on, telling John about their new client, that he just couldn't say no when Sherlock said they'd need to dress up. 

They were currently at a live action roleplay. Females from a fairy tribe had been being killed during the events and in a moment of desperation, and worry for his his daughter's life, the 'Fairy King' had contacted Sherlock. Asking him to take up a role and find the killer without causing too much commotion. The event organisers wanted everything to be kept on the down low and a private detective was the perfect solution.  

So John didn't mind too much. If he had to dress as a fairy to save lives, so be it. 

Plus, Sherlock looked petty good in his costumes. A war elf. 

John takes a moment to look over the detective as he rambles on about the case.  

He had a long brown coat/cloak on that reached his ankle, just skimming the floor. His 'armour' was a darker shade of brown and with his hood up, you couldn't see much of his face. All you could see were his cold (beautiful) eyes and the blood red war paint that was covering his cheekbones in two thick stripes. On either side of his hips were slings, a menacing dagger in each (also fake). 

He couldn't currently see it but John knew Sherlock's arse looked as fabulous as ever in those brown leather leggings. Although, John definitely preferred the tight 'club jeans' as he'd dubbed them. 

"Done checking me out yet, John?" Sherlock asks in that rumbling deep voice of his. 

Despite his rapidly growing blush, John smirks as he runs his eyes up from Sherlock's toes to his eyes. "Not quite" He answers, throwing a wink at the detective. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. 

It had been nearly four months since The Sadistic Ex case and Sherlock was now no stranger to having John's eyes running over him. Nor was he a stranger to the way his pulse increased when John did so. 

Sherlock would often share at John, rather openly, and countless flirty comments were exchanged. The hints were far from subtle and even Anderson had noticed the changes. 

Neither of them, however, seemed to have the guts to take it further than looking and overly suggestive dialogue. 

They both saw the other looking, obviously interested in more ways than one, but they did nothing. Idiots. 

"Right!" Sherlock claps is hands, almost bouncing with excitement. "Let's go! People to see, a killer to catch, fun to be had"

He's out of their tent in flash of brown. 

John rolls his eyes, adjusts his tutu, and follows after Sherlock with a smile.

*

"Ah.. So you're Mister Holmes..." The princess fairy smirks, her tiara's ruby shining with the same pride as her smile. 

"Uh, yes" Sherlock nods, clearly not up for sham flirting for the sake of a case. He hadn't forgotten the way the killer from the Gothic club had shoved her tongue down his throat.  

He slides back, looping his arm with John's as he gives an obviously forced smile. 

Her eyes light up in realisation as she looks between the two men. John finds himself blushing at the fact she thought they were a couple. They basically were, of course, with all the flirting and the fact John had cut dating and women from his life. But still. It was both embarrassing and frustrating that they weren't a couple. That it was just pretend. 

John wished he had the nerves to just kiss the man on his arm. Sherlock's thoughts were along the same lines as the women continues to look between them. 

Eventually, she introduces herself as the Princess (earning two eye rolls from the 'couple') before she shows them around the site and the places the bodies were found. Eventually she takes them to an odd shack were they find the bodies laid out for examination, surrounding by flowers and shells and candles. John was tempted to ask if this was more than a roleplay for the people here. 

It seemed more a way of life. 

She gives all details she can, only getting tearful over a ginger female who was covered in blue body paint. 

Sherlock goes about his business, learning all he can from the bodies and occasionally informing John on things. It's clear to them both that the fake weapons used on site, which contained glass in the middle, were being used to murder the young girls. 

There was a strict no stabbing action rule. You were supposed to hit another person with the side of your fantasy weapon, as a stabbing action could cause damage. As shown by the bodies before them. 

Before long John finds himself stood at the side of the playing field or whatever they call it. Sherlock was scanning the area, picking out members of each clan. 

They're were five main clans. Hundreds of people were in a clan. Arms bands, with a logo, separated them. The Fairy King was leader of the Deer clan. The name was no reflection of the fierce and frankly dirty ways they fought. 

The clan wasn't all fairies, of course. Throughout the clans, the races were mixed. The only consistent factor of the clans were their armbands. Within clans there were families and tribes and so on. 

The Deer's rival clan were called the Tiger's. These were the two largest clans, each having over one thousand members. 

The other clans were not much smaller and the rivalry hadn't formed because of power. According to the Princess, the first leaders had simply taken a dislike to one another and it had just developed from there. 

John often found himself wondering if these people could tell the difference between reality and fiction. The way the Princess had describe the rivalry had sounded so raw and hateful that John didn't find it hard to believe that their roleplay tension leaked into their real lives. 

A group of giggle girls snap John out of his thoughts as they circle Sherlock and him, their grins far too predatory for John's liking. John finds himself leaning against Sherlock as the purple glittery vampires/cats got closer. 

"No armbands?" One asks, voice silky with a clear seductive note. 

"We could use a few more males..." drawls another, voice as equally sexual. 

Without warning, Sherlock's warm hand slides into John's. 

"We're together" Sherlock says, voice firm and stubborn. 

The females weaver slightly before they catch the dumbstruck way John was staring at their entwined hands. Sherlock squeezes, pulling John away from wherever his mind had wondered. John snaps out it and squeezes back, looking up and giving an affirming smile. 

They didn't buy it. John wasn't surprised. 

"Prove it!" One snaps. 

Without hesitation, it seems, Sherlock swoops in on John, their lips meeting in a kiss that was immediately heated and in no way chaste. John doesn't have time to be shocked before he's leaning into Sherlock, moving his lips against the others with the same level of desire and intimacy. 

Sherlock's lips are surprisingly soft and yet unsurprisingly firm and full against John's. Sherlock pulls John's lower lip between his own, biting down on it gently. Once again, there is no hesitation as John parts his lips for the detective's hot tongue. 

Sherlock takes his time in mapping out John's mouth, first with a slow pace as their tongues dance and then he switches, without warning, to a demanding pace that all but imitated sex at it's most rough and exciting. 

His hands were everywhere; the small of John's back, his shoulders, his waist, his hair, his neck, his arse, even under his top and on his hip. Everywhere. 

John felt like someone had stroke a match and set him alight. 

When they pull back, their both breathless. Their eyes meet, both darkened with the sudden rush of desire, and for a moment John's brain just crashes. He forgets all about the women, the case and their current situation. 

His hand slides onto the back of Sherlock's neck and he pulls him down for another kiss, already addicted to Sherlock's maddening lips. The detective happily kisses back, his hands settling on John's hips and tugging him closer. 

When they pull back the next time, their panting is worse and both of their cheeks are flushed. Sherlock eventually forces his eyes away from John, glancing around them. 

The women had disappeared. 

Sherlock detaches himself from John and tugs on his wrist as they begin walking away, towards the hut's of the Tiger clan. 

"You have my war paint on your face" Sherlock informs as they stroll past the first huts. 

John doesn't say a word about the kiss, following behind Sherlock and wiping his face as his heart fills with hope. Maybe being forced into something neither of them had the guts to do would be good for them. 

John could only hope. 

*

"Who did you sleep with last night?" Sherlock asks the pale man before them. 

John frowns at that. So far, all of Sherlock's questions that been about the clans, the rivalry and the weapons. The doctor had no clue where Sherlock thought he was going with this line of inquiry. He just hoped it didn't end with a bloody nose for Sherlock. 

The Tiger clan member, David, who they were interviewing, scowls at Sherlock. 

"If you're trying to suggest I.. kill after I sleep with a woman--"

"No, no" Sherlock shakes his head. "Someone is trying the woman you've been sleeping with, though. Someone in your clan, at a guess" 

John almost sighs at how much information he'd not been told. Sherlock rarely stops to explain, always being able to show off that way. 

David's eyes widen "My God... You're right.. All of them..." 

"So" Sherlock smirks "I ask again, who did you sleep with last night? I assume it was a member of the Deer clan" 

"Well" David blushes. "There were two. A Deer and then a Tiger" 

John's eyebrows raise at that. He didn't seem like the type to sleep around so much. A different girl every week, fine, but two in one night? All John could say was Bravo. 

"We're just interested in the Deer" Sherlock deadpans, not commenting on David's lifestyle choices. 

"The Princess..." David trails off, frowning. "She's next..." 

Sherlock was nodding slowly when a scream pierces the silence surrounding the hut they were currently in. There a tense moment of silence where looks are exchange between the three men before Sherlock springs into action, racing out of the tent with John hot on his hills. 

When they emerge there are few people around but none few fazed by the fact someone had just let out a scream. John realises that screams and cries of pain where the norm around here, extra leverage for the murderer. 

There's another scream and Sherlock sprints off in the direction of the sound, weaving between the huts and not looking back to check for John. The doctor removes his gun from the back of his pink tutu as he does his best to keep sight of Sherlock. 

Not only did Sherlock have ridiculously long legs that allowed him to go five times faster than John but his all brown outfit just made it harder for John to see him in the dark. Running around at 3am did not help someone trying to look for something. 

It wasn't long before John lost sight of the nimble detective. John was so busy trying to figure out which way he went and cursing under his breath that he didn't notice the short man dressed in black until he was crashing into him.

They stumble and fall to the ground, the other man falling on top of John. The man quickly rolls off the now winded and groaning doctor, mumbling apologises at a rapid pace. 

"It's alright" John manages, pushing up into a sitting position to give the kneeling man a smile. 

"Are you okay?" The man questions, tilting his head and offering a small smile as his hand tightens on the handle of his fantasy sword. 

John's eyes flicker down to the movement and when he spots the splashes of crimson red on the end, he looks up and smiles back like he hadn't seen the blood. John pushed himself forward, making out he was preparing to stand and then, in one quick targeted movement, he launches himself at the man and pins him to the floor before he can so much as react.

John removes the handcuffs from under his tutu and flips the helpless man over, cuffing him and kicking away the bloodied sword. 

The ex-soldier hauls the murderer to his in much the same way he did injuries men during his time in Afghanistan. As he pushes the struggling man towards David's hut, he pulls out his phone as uses one hand to text Sherlock. 

Somewhere among the huts, Sherlock text alert rings out, demanding attention, but it goes ignored as Sherlock holds the dying girl in his arms. 

There no time for her now. The kind of treatment she needs wouldn't be here for thirty minutes and it'd be too late.

She was going to die, and as Sherlock looked down into her teary eyes h could see the acceptance. 

"Tiger..." She wheezes. 

Sherlock nods. "I know. I'll bring him to justice" 

"Thank you..."

Soon after the words pass her lips, her purple painted eyes slides closed and her body goes limp.

*

Everything was explained in John's blog. Except the kiss, of course. Neither of them had mentioned it. It seemed they were just going to ignore it. For now. 

The murderer had been a Tiger clan member, David's younger brother, and he wasn't happy to find out his brother had been sleeping with their rivals. So, like any other insane individual, he decided to take matters into his own hands and kill the young women. 

The Fairy King had given up his throne and gone home, back to his job as a fireman, and John had a strong feeling that he wouldn't be returning to the roleplay fields anytime soon, if ever. 

The others on site had been informed of current events. John worried, once again, that few them were able to separate the fact from their fiction. 

He lay awake the next night, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how his life got quite this odd. 

He smiled at the thought of Sherlock being the one to turn his life upside down and sideways. 

Naturally, his mind wondered to the kiss. He had no idea what to do about it. Does he mention it? Repeat it? 

One thing was for sure. John definitely loved the cases where Sherlock had to dress up, even if it did mean he was in a luminous pink tutu when they shared their first kiss. 

Sherlock was also awake that night, playing a soft tune on his violin as his mind goes over all the facts from the case. His mind, much like John's, continuously looped back to the kiss. 

The detective found himself smiling like a fool as the tune picked up, turning into a quick excited beat. 

He, too, was a fan of his costumed cases.


End file.
